If he should bid the golden string
Be vocal to a loftier theme,
Sad memory from her cell would bring
The fond forbidden dream;
The dream of her, whose broken chain
Than new forged bonds is far more dear;
Whose name he may not speak again,
And shudders but to hear.
And if he breathes Love's hopes and fears
In many a soulless idol's shrine,
The falsehoods fit for vulgar ears
Were never fit for thine.
Take back, take back the book to-night:
Thou art too brightly-nobly fair,
For hearts so worn as his to write
Their worthless worship there.
"L'on n'aime bien qu' une seule fois : c'est la premiere. Les amours qui suivent sont moins involontaires!"-LA BRUYERĖ.
How shall he woo her?-Let him stand
Beside her as she sings;
And watch that fine and fairy hand
Flit o'er the quivering strings:
And let him tell her he has heard,
Though sweet the music flow,
A voice whose every whispered word
Was sweeter, long ago.
How shall he woo her?-Let him gaze
In sad and silent trance
On those blue eyes, whose liquid rays
Look love in every glance:
And let him tell her, eyes more bright,
Though bright her own may beam,
Will fling a deeper spell to-night
Upon him in his dream.
How shall he woo her?-Let him try
The charms of olden time,
And swear by earth, and sea, and sky,
And rave in prose and rhyme:
And let him tell her, when he bent
His knee in other years,
He was not half so eloquent,—
He could not speak for tears!
How shall he woo her?-Let him bow
Before the shrine in prayer ;
And bid the priest pronounce the vow
That hallows passion there:
And let him tell her, when she parts
From his unchidden kiss,
That memory to many hearts
Is dearer far than bliss.
Away, away, the chords are mute,
The bond is rent in twain ;
You cannot wake that silent lute,
Nor clasp those links again;
Love's toil, I know, is little cost,
Love's perjury is light sin;
But souls that lose what his hath lost,
Oh, what have they to win?
ONE day through Fancy's telescope,
Which is my richest treasure,
I saw, dear Susan, Love and Hope
Set out in search of pleasure:
All mirth and smiles I saw them go;
Each was the other's banker;
For Hope took up her brother's bow,
And Love, his sister's anchor.
They rambled on o'er vale and hill,
They passed by cot and tower;
Through summer's glow and winter's chill,
Through sunshine and through shower:
But what did those fond playmates care
For climate, or for weather?
All scenes to them were bright and fair
On which they gazed together.
Sometimes they turned aside to bless
Some Muse and her wild numbers,
Or breathe a dream of holiness
On Beauty's quiet slumbers:
"Fly on," said Wisdom, with cold sneers,
"I teach my friends to doubt you:
"Come back," said Age, with bitter tears,
"My heart is cold without you."
When Poverty beset their path
And threatened to divide them,
They coaxed away the beldame's wrath
Ere she had breath to chide them,
By vowing all her rags were silk,
And all her bitters, honey,
And showing taste for bread and milk,
And utter scorn of money.
They met stern Danger in their way
Upon a ruin seated;
Before him kings had quaked that day,
And armies had retreated:
But he was robed in such a cloud
As Love and Hope came near him, That though he thundered long and loud, They did not see or hear him.
A grey-beard joined them, Time by name;
And Love was nearly crazy
To find that he was very lame,
And also very lazy :
Hope, as he listened to her tale,
Tied wings upon his jacket;
And then they far outran the mail,
And far outsailed the packet.
And so, when they had safely passed
O'er many a land and billow,
Before a grave they stopped at last,
Beneath a weeping willow:
The moon upon the humble mound
Her softest light was flinging;
And from the thickets all around
Sad nightingales were singing.
"I leave you here," quoth Father Time,
As hoarse as any raven ;
And Love kneeled down to spell the rhyme Upon the rude stone graven :
But Hope looked onward, calmly brave,
And whispered, "Dearest brother—
We're parted on this side the
We'll meet upon the other.
Written under a sketch of Sir Thomas Acland's cottages for the poor.
A GENTLE Muse was hovering o'er
The wide wide world, and looking long
For a pleasant spot where a Muse might pour
To the wood or the wave her liquid song;
And "Who," said she, "of the kind and free-
Who will open his gate for me?"
"Come hither," said Wealth, "to my crowded mart,
Where splendour dazzles the gazer's eye,
Where the sails approach and the sails depart
With every breath of the summer sky:
"Oh no," said she; "by the shore of the sea
Wealth has no room in his store for me!"
"Come hither," said War, "to my moated tower; Danger and Death have walked the plain;
But the arrowy sleet of the iron shower
Beats on these stubborn walls in vain ;' "Oh no," said she,- "there is blood on the key; War shall not open a lock for me!"
"Come hither," said Love, "to my rosy dell,
Where nothing of grief or care has birth,
Rest in my bower, where sweet dreams dwell,
Making a Heaven-a Heaven of earth."
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